


Reek Sunday

by Lurlur



Series: The Problem With Saints [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Catholic Saints - Freeform, Crowley Is A Pine Tree In Sunglasses, M/M, Mid-Canon, Slight Canon Divergence, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Swearing, croagh patrick, just a lot of fairly niche Irish catholic fun, so crowley is awake in 1879, that nap is a nightmare, the knock revelation, victorian good omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 00:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: When Aziraphale needs a favour, Crowley is only too happy to help. Until the one time he can't. How can he say no to his angel without embarrassing himself?





	Reek Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the God of Dumb Ideas. I am truly your disciple.

**London, 1879 AD**

Crowley was feeding the ducks. He definitely wasn't sulking and he absolutely wasn't lurking around St James's Park, merely on the off chance that a certain adversary might show up. The ducks were getting overfull, bloated on grains and breadcrumbs. Crowley didn't want to leave just yet, so the ducks would eat what he gave them. Hurrying footsteps made him turn and peer into the London fog. Wearing slightly more cream than was fashionable and puffing from exertion, Aziraphale came into view. Just the being that Crowley hadn't been hoping to see.

"Crowley! Oh, I am glad to find you here." Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley's arm.

"Uh, hello Angel." Crowley was looking at his arm or, more accurately, at Aziraphale's hand.

So casual, so easy, just a touch and no more thought behind it.

"I rather need to ask a favour of you. It's about The Arrangement." This last part was said in a stage whisper, more dramatic than discreet.

"Oh?" Said Crowley, one eyebrow arching over his dark spectacles.

_Anything_, his heart cried, _anything_ _you_ _ask_. Aziraphale fidgeted with his gloves, suddenly looking awkward.

"I've got a miracle to perform next week, quite a large one too. Thing is, I've already got a theatre ticket that night. I simply can't do both."

"Yeah, I've not got anything on. Happy to do it." It was a struggle to keep his voice cool and impassive.

"Oh, thank you! You are a dear chap. It's a revelation over in Ireland, a little village called Knock I think."

_Shit. _

_Fuck. _

_Bad. _

_Panic. _

"Ireland?" Crowley squeaked.

"Yes, sort of the north-west area. It's a charming part of the world and usually, I'd be happy to go myself, but this show has been impossible to get tickets for and I really don't want to lose my chance." Aziraphale barrelled on, either not noticing or not caring about the somewhat constipated look on Crowley's face.

He never turned Aziraphale down, he never disappointed him or let him face more than a minor inconvenience, if he could help it. How was he supposed to explain this?

"Uh, Aziraphale?"

"I know it's not the right time of year, but do you think you could keep an eye out for some barmbrack?"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley snapped.

"What?"

"I can't go. I'm sorry."

"But you just said. You said you're free next week. Oh, don't do this to me, Crowley." Aziraphale pouted.

Crowley had to look away, that look was always enough to break him but this case had to be different. He needed to be strong.

"I can't. It's not that I don't want to, I just should have checked the details before agreeing." Crowley was mentally kicking himself.

"Why? What changed in the past two minutes, Crowley?" Aziraphale positively whined.

"I can't go to Ireland." There, he said it.

His 1400-year-old hubris was finally back to bite him. Aziraphale's eyes narrowed.

"I know you've been there before. What changed?" A look of horror took over Aziraphale's face. "Oh no, Crowley, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" Crowley protested, lying. "It's just, you know, snakes aren't allowed."

Again, Aziraphale shifted back to suspicion.

"You aren't truly a snake, though. You're a demon. Besides, that's just a myth."

Crowley shifted uneasily, looking pointedly at his feet.

"Might not be so much a myth as a real thing that happened." He admitted, quietly.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale looked scandalised. "_What did you do_?"

Crowley was so ashamed of himself for letting Aziraphale down that he barely allowed himself to enjoy the acrobatics being performed by Aziraphale's features.

"Nothing! Well, nothing much."

**Ireland, 441AD**

Patrick had been at the top of the mountain, upon which his name would one day be bestowed, for a little over an hour. The view down into Clew Bay was beautiful; a real testament to the grace of God, to have gifted humanity with such a wonder. He would be able to fast and pray and truly dedicate himself to the Lord for the next 40 days.

Crowley had been at the top of the mountain, upon which this humble author would one day twist an ankle (and is evidently still miffed about), for around a week. Now that the monk had finally arrived, he could start having some fun. He slithered over to where the man was setting up a campfire.

"What are you doing?" Said Crowley.

"Begone, demon."

"That'ss not very nice. I'm jusst trying to be friendly." Crowley hissed.

Patrick glanced at the snake currently coiling itself up on a rock.

"I am setting myself up for a period of fasting, contemplation and solitary prayer."

"Why?" Crowley asked.

"Because I wish to commune with God."

"Why?"

"To gain a greater understanding of this world and my place in it, and guidance on how best to serve the people of Ireland."

"Why?"

"So I can be a more effective tool of the Lord." Patrick was beginning to sound irritated.

"Heh heh heh... Tool." Crowley snickered. "Why?"

"To help convert the people of Ireland to the true faith!"

"Wh-ERK!" Crowley found himself hoisted by the neck and held at eye level with Patrick.

"Stop it. I'm not going to be distracted from my holy purpose by some Eden copycat!"

OK, _that_ stung. If anything, this was an encore of Eden. Crowley hissed and flashed fangs far bigger than necessary, shocking Patrick into dropping him. He slithered a short distance away, grumpy at being manhandled. Patrick ignored him for the rest of the day, no matter how many very important questions Crowley came up with.

"I know a ssong that will get on your nervess, get on your nervess, get on your nervess. I know a ssong that will get on your nervess and thiss iss how it goess!"

Crowley had just written his first song and he was very pleased with it. He had found a tall tree to hide in, out of reach of Patrick, and was singing his song as loudly as his snake lungs could manage. Patrick was knelt below him, praying at an ever-increasing, competing volume. Crowley could see the red flush of rage rising up his neck and raised his voice miraculously. Patrick stood and picked up his staff, thrusting it into the branches of the tree to dislodge Crowley.

"Will you just FUCK OFF?!" Patrick yelled.

"Make me!" Crowley responded, tauntingly, as he dodged the staff.

“I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, piss off and never come back!”

Crowley opened his mouth to retort just as Patrick’s staff caught him in the ribs, some of his ribs anyway. Through intent, holy intervention, or Crowley’s own bad luck, Patrick’s banishment worked. Crowley was flung east at great speed, landing as a miserable pile of snake on Snaefell. It had taken him far longer than he cared to admit to arrange a ride back to the mainland of Britain.

**London, 1879 AD**

Aziraphale was doubled over laughing. Crowley sniffed, put out by Aziraphale’s uncharacteristic display of mirth.

“It’s not _that_ funny, Angel.”

“Ha! It is, though! All this time we thought that Patrick had been making it up! But it was you! He really did banish all the snakes from Ireland!” He wiped away a tear of joy. “Oh, my dear boy. I’m not half so worried about missing the play now, I feel I’ve had far more entertainment than it would have offered!”

Crowley’s pride was wounded, but at least Aziraphale wasn’t upset with him. Thank heavens for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley was the snake on Croagh Patrick. Fite me.
> 
> Yes, I fell down Croagh Patrick about 20 years ago and I'M STILL MAD ABOUT IT.
> 
> The miracle Aziraphale needs doing is the Revelation of Our Lady at Knock.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Gach beannachd dhut](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571159) by [Starryfull13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starryfull13/pseuds/Starryfull13)


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